


Crush

by Uozumi



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bees, F/M, M/M, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uozumi/pseuds/Uozumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles would know the Impala anywhere. It was impossible to forget Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crush

**Author's Note:**

> **Fandom** _Supernatural_ / _Teen Wolf_ (2011) (SuperWolf?)  
>  **Character(s)/Pairing(s)** Castiel, Stiles Stilinski, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester; implied Castiel/Dean (take it as you will), one-sided Lydia/Stiles, one-sided Dean/Stiles (Stiles has a crush on both of them)  
>  **Genre** Drama/Fantasy/Slash/Supernatural  
>  **Rating** PG-13  
>  **Word Count** 2,218  
>  **Disclaimer** Supernatural c. Kripke, CW, WB; Teen Wolf c. Davis, MTV  
>  **Summary** Stiles would know the Impala anywhere. It was impossible to forget Dean Winchester.   
> **Warning(s)** spoilers up through season seven episode twenty-two; spoilers up through season two episode twelve, sort of partial male nudity if bees count as a thong.   
> **Notes** This fic assumes that the finale for _Supernatural_ happened after the finale for _Teen Wolf_. I was going to write Sterek, really I was, and then it just didn’t happen. Someday I’ll get the right story for them.

**_Crush_ **

Stiles saw the black 1967 Chevy Impala on the way to school that morning. It was parked outside of the diner that sold the best pie in town. It also set the tone for the day. He got in trouble in morning practice for zoning out despite scoring two goals a couple weeks back. He wrote three paragraphs on the Chemistry bonus question about how to exorcise ghosts and why salt was important to the process. The worst thing, in Stiles opinion, that he did was he called Scott “Dean” just before they parted ways in the school parking lot. It was right up there with the time Stiles called Scott “Lydia” two years ago when they were working on a science project together. Scott tried to ask who Dean was in the parking lot, but he had to go to work. Stiles knew the next time he saw Scott, he would have to explain the slip. 

As Stiles jogged along a path in one of the local parks for personal lacrosse training, he tried to get his mind to focus on other things, but his brain would not let the Impala go, though he had not seen it since that morning. For all he knew, Dean Winchester had gotten his pie after a long night and was in some other state by now. 

Stiles’ mind wandered to the day he met Dean. It was a month after Stiles’ mother died and he was still in junior high. He had detention and when it was time to go home, the school seemed deserted. Then all of the lights flickered, as they had been for weeks, and went out. The hallway had no windows and it was very dark. Stiles felt his heart rate increase and he tried to breathe evenly. Then there were two flashlights approaching. “I – I didn’t do it!” he called out. He could not recognize which teachers the flashlights belonged to. As the figures drew closer, Stiles realized he knew neither of them. 

“Shouldn’t you be home watching cartoons?” was the first thing Dean ever said to Stiles. After a bit of conversing, Dean introduced himself and his brother Sam. The brothers tried to get Stiles out to safety, but the doors were sealed from the inside. Soon after, a few trophies flew at them from unknown origins. Dean and Sam mentioned plans and Sam went to find “the jacket.” Stiles choose to stay with Dean, even though that means they would be distracting the ghosts from Sam’s task. 

The ghosts chased them to the gym. Dean positioned Stiles in the center of the room and laid a salt ring around them. Dean began to pick the ghosts that appeared off with his gun. “Salt rounds,” he told Stiles when Stiles looked nervous. 

Stiles nodded. It was becoming harder to breathe. He felt like his arms were numb and on fire at the same time. He knew he would start trembling soon. He wanted to curl up in a ball, put his hands over his head, and wait it out, but he couldn’t. He knew he had to keep an eye out. How could he trust a ring of salt would protect them? 

“You’ve got to breathe,” Dean said. “Freaking out isn’t going to help anybody.” 

Stiles could not speak. It was easy for Dean to say that. It was not so easy for Stiles to do it. 

There was a lull in the ghosts. Dean looked at the clock in the gym, mouthing the words, “Come on, Sammy.” He spared a look at Stiles. “When I was your age, it was just me and Sammy. Dad came and went with his job. There were a lot of scary things, but you have to learn to deal with them.” 

Stiles looked at Dean. “It’s not the ghosts,” he managed. He looked at the gun. “I just…What if I don’t see my dad again?” Stiles took a deep breath and everything came out in a rush. “We had this fight and I said these things and I just want to go home. He’s going to worry if I’m not there. He gets off work soon and he’s going to go home and I won’t be there. He probably thinks he’s a horrible dad. He’s not, but…” Stiles voice trailed. 

Dean kept his gun at ready even though Stiles saw no evidence of ghosts. Dean looked at the clock again and then at Stiles. “So just…I don’t know. Make him dinner or something. Rake up the leaves in the yard without being told. Do your homework without a confrontation.” Dean shifted his weight. “Do what he tells you.” 

Stiles nodded. “What about your dad?” The question just appeared. Stiles regretted asking before he even finished it. Before he could offer a hasty apology, the bleachers behind them slide across the floor. The noise called Stiles to jump and react. 

“Don’t!” Dean grabbed host of Stile’s shirt before Stiles could move out of the salt circle. The bleachers stopped at the very edge of the circle as though a barrier like Dean told Stiles would exist actually existed. Stiles stared and shrank behind Dean. Dean looked for the source and shot at it. “Sam will have it under control in two minutes or we’re going to go find him.” 

“Okay,” Stiles said. They fell into silence then. After a moment of thinking, Stiles asked, “Does everyone turn into a ghost?”

“No.” Dean kept his eyes on the lookout for ghosts and on the clock. “Most people go to Heaven or Hell.” 

“So, my mom…” Stiles’ voice trailed. He could feel Dean’s gaze. He didn’t want to look up, afraid he might start crying again. It still hurt more than he could express any other way. 

“I’m sure she passed on,” Dean said quietly, “and you should want her to pass on. Wherever she is, I’m sure she’s happy and I know,” his voice sounded almost like he really did know, “that she remembers you always.” 

Stiles opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, two shadowy figures in the far corner of the gym burst into flame and turned to ash. Dean’s face lit up. “That’s it, Sam.” He looked at Stiles. “Let’s go.” Dean led them out of the gym. They met up with Sam in the hallway. When the three of them emerged from the school, it was dark. The brothers took Stiles to the entrance of his subdivision. Stiles got out of the Impala and waved before heading down the street to his house. 

Off and on over the years, Stiles could still remember the encounter. His memories of Dean were the clearest. Stiles even managed to figure out which aftershave Dean used and adopted it as his own last year. Since parting from the Winchesters, Stiles thought he remembered Dean so strongly because Dean was the kind of person Stiles wanted to be. Now he was not so sure. As he kept an eye out for the Impala or that distinct leather jacket as he ran along the path, he realized the way he felt about finding Dean was the same way he felt if he went to the mall and saw Lydia’s car in the parking lot. It was almost like cheating on his crush with Lydia, but without guilt. 

Stiles rounded a corner of the path. Movement caught his attention his periphery and he almost tripped over his own feet. “Oh my God.” Stiles skittered to a halt and stared. There was a naked man with his genitals covered in bees on the hood of a car in the middle of the woods just off the trail. Stiles did not know if he had stumbled into some sort of olfactory hallucinogenic plant goldmine or what. 

Just as Stiles realized the car was the Impala, he heard Dean’s voice from the other side of the clearing. “Jesus. Cas.” Dean clutched an ominous looking machete. He approached the Impala. “What are you doing?” All of his attention was on Castiel. He did not seem to know Stiles was watching them. 

Castiel stretched, continuing to lounge on the hood of the car. “I found the bees and I thought I would share them with you, Dean.” Some of the bees flew to investigate Dean and Stiles. Dean’s eyes followed the bees. When he saw Stiles, his eyes flashed in recognition. 

“Uh…well…” Dean’s eyes moved back to Castiel, “you’re sharing it with more than just me. Where are your clothes?” Dean’s shoulders seemed to sink despite remaining tense. Stiles wondered if Dean was allergic to bees. 

“With the bees,” Castiel said. He stood up on the hood of the car to face Dean. While the bees covered his genitals, they did not cover his butt and Stiles found he could not look away as the scene became more awkward and unsettling. 

“Well, maybe we should find them,” Dean said. He walked over and reached out a hand to help Castiel down from the hood. 

“Good idea,” Castiel said. “Follow the bees.” Then he vanished, leaving the bees not touching his body. Dean stared at the spot Castiel occupied for a while and then he cleared his throat. His eyes again returned to Stiles. “Sorry about that. It’s uh…angelic dementia.” Dean’s eyes surveyed the perimeter around them. Satisfied they were safe, Dean headed to the trunk of his car. “You’re that kid with all the ghosts.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. With Castiel gone, Stiles observed Dean properly. He felt his heart rate quicken slightly when Dean glanced at him just like it did when Lydia glanced at him. “What are you hunting?” Stiles really hoped it was not werewolves. 

“Stuff,” Dean said. He popped the hood and settled the machete back into place. “It’s some kind of scavenger hunt.” His eyebrows furrowed. Stiles could tell it was not something Dean enjoyed. 

“I could help,” Stiles offered. “I’m good at puzzles.” He drew closer to the Impala and Dean, trying to remain casual about it. 

Dean shook his head. “It’s not that kind of puzzle. Besides, the less you help the better.” He paused and seemed to realize what that sounded like. “You’re a smart kid and that’s good. You need to keep away from stuff like this. You should go be a lawyer or something not hunting leviathans or whatever.” He shut the trunk securely. 

“Leviathans? Like Jonah and the whale?” Stiles tried to casually lean on the trunk of the Impala. He almost slid off of it, but corrected himself in time, settling on the corner of the trunk. 

“More like piranha,” Dean murmured. He leaned against the trunk of the Impala beside Stiles. “They’re bad news, something you don’t want to get caught up in.” He looked up through the trees at the sky. “Once you get into this shit – ghosts, vampires, demons, werewolves – you don’t get back out. You can try, but it will find you and drag you back worse than when you left.”

“I did help you exorcise ghosts from my school,” Stiles said. He wondered if that led to all this werewolf and kanima business if what Dean said was true. 

“Yeah, let’s hope that’s all you do,” Dean said. He sighed exhaustedly then stood up straighter and stretched. 

Stiles watched Dean’s shirt ride up with the stretch and stared at the flash of skin and hair beneath. His lips parted and he slowly became aware that Dean was watching him. “Uh…we could get…pie?” Stiles remembered Dean talking about it in the car when they were heading to Stiles’ subdivision. He wondered if Dean still liked pie as much as it sounded like he did back then. 

Dean snorted. He smiled and shook his head. “I might have a young face,” he tone was firm but gentle, “but I’m not that young.” 

Stiles fidgeted with his hands. He kept watching Dean’s face. “Worth a shot?” He smiled a little to try and feel less stupid about even asking in the first place. 

“Go find someone your own age, take them out for pie. See where that goes,” Dean said. 

Stiles nodded. He stopped leaning on the Impala. “Good luck with the Leviathans.”

Dean nodded. “Good luck with high school. I’m not sure which of us have it worse.” It was a joke. Stiles could tell Dean’s Leviathans must be so much worse than kanimas or werewolves. 

Stiles offered his hand and Dean shook it. His grip was firm, tired. Dean let his grip tighten a little and then he let go. He reached into his pockets. He retrieved a scrap piece of paper and a pen. “If something comes up,” he wrote a number down on the paper, “call this number. Can’t promise we won’t be across the country, can’t promise you’ll get both of us or either of us, but use it when you need it.”

Stiles took the paper and put it in the pocket of his running pants. He watched Dean get into the Impala. He waved a little until the taillights disappeared. Stiles sighed. A pie date. He thought that would only work on Dean, but maybe if he found the right person, or Lydia left Jackson, he could try it. 

**The End**


End file.
